Only Birds and Angels
by Lilith Resurrected
Summary: Sort of a gothic tale about Severus Snape and controversial writer Morgan Harcourt (OC) and their fatal romance in the middle of the War. Better read for yourselves...
1. Part I

Only Birds and Angels  
  
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe is property of J.K. Rowling (I'm dead serious). I make no profit off of this story and there's no trademark or copyright infringement intended. Don't sue unless you're prepared to look ridiculous in public. Anyway, I'm broke.  
  
A/N: The story should perhaps be viewed as AU because I haven't even read OotP yet. I'm living in a faraway northern corner of the world. This is my first fanfic and to add to that I don't have a beta reader. If any of you would be up for the job I'd be thrilled! Please, please? I generally don't make too many spelling or grammar mistakes but suggestions regarding the plot and characterization would be extremely appreciated. Please read & review! Reviews make my day.  
  
Summary: Severus Snape has dedicated his life to redeeming himself from his Death Eater past. He's still teaching potions at Hogwarts and spying for the Order of the Phoenix, which doesn't leave a lot of room for a rewarding social life. And the sudden emergence of Morgan Harcourt (OC), a controversial writer, at first only seems to further pester his already miserable excuse for a life.  
  
But no sooner have the two settled into some kind of friendship when the situation in the wizarding world becomes desperate with rumours of war and impending calamity. Morgan suddenly finds she isn't a welcome member of the community any longer, because of the clash between her agenda and the up- swing of a patriotic movement brought on by the war. She has made no pretences about her intense dislike of the way the Ministry handles its affairs, but also - and more surprising - of Dumbledore's passive attitude towards aspiring Death Eaters etc. The Victorian sentiments and the intolerance, sexism and racism in their world are also subject to her harsh criticism.  
  
From then on out the world is an apocalyptic haze. The brutalities of the Death Eater attacks are unparalleled and directed at the most vulnerable targets. It appears the Order have a spy in its midst (and I'm not referring to Snape here). Can - and should - Snape trust that Morgan is innocent and has no ulterior motives for suddenly stepping into his life at this point in time?  
  
Chapter I - There Is a Storm Blowing Up  
  
I t was the beginning of their fifth year at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the Gryffindors and Slytherins fought their way through the storm towards Greenhouse nr 3 for a lesson in herbology with Professor Spout. The first hectic week was drawing to an end, though that day had not begun promising for the Gryffindors. They had started of with a double potions class, yet again together with the Slytherins. Why Dumbledore didn't realize that the intense competition in class only increased the antagonism between the houses was still unclear. Snape had given the students his habitual warm welcome.  
  
"Snape's just as foul as ever, isn't he?" Harry complained to his friends.  
  
"Is a frog's ass water tight?" Ron replied inelegantly. "You'd think that the man would brighten up when we're back so he has someone to abuse. The summers must be very trying for him."  
  
Hermione snorted. "What? You didn't expect him to fall you around the neck and tell you how much he missed you, did you? Snap out of it!"  
  
Ron cringed with a horrified look on his face. "Please, Hermione, don't even joke about things like that. Now I'll have nightmares for weeks."  
  
"You're both single-minded wankers," she said irritated. "Imagine sticking to a preconception you know to be untrue for four bloody years!"  
  
"May I remind you that you used to dislike him as much as we do," Harry hissed, trying to wipe his robes around his book to keep them from the rain.  
  
"Let's hurry up!" They ran the remaining couple of yards.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ?? The new tenant above Lyndon & Gates's Apotechary quickly required a reputation as an odd costumer with her neighbours. In a diverse community like Hogsmeade, with witches, wizards, elves, goblins, veelas and other magical creatures living side by side, that counted for something to be sure.  
  
Mrs Gates had the mixed fortune and misfortune of being the new woman's landlord. She had first hand information to offer to her friends but on the down-side was the uncertainty, the strange nightly noises and the eccentric behaviour. On their way to the market, Mrs Gates seized the opportunity to ventilate the matter with her sister.  
  
"The funny thing, Ruth, is that the apartment had been vacated that very same day. The former tenant, you know mr Sloane, had apparently problems with the law and moved out, secretly. Of course we had not had time to advertise after a new tenant. But there she was on the stairs, when it was almost midnight."  
  
"You can't be serious! Did she really drag you out of your beds in the middle of the night? Some nerve on that woman." Mrs Gaskell was appalled.  
  
"Look out for that dog! As I was saying . I'm not entirely certain I want a woman like her living so close to me-or my husband."  
  
The older woman looked her sharply in the eye. "Oh, you think she is .? What's her name again?"  
  
"Morgan Harcourt and indeed I do. She didn't say or do anything that I would describe as actually improper but I got such an uneasy feeling in my stomach from seeing her that morning-"  
  
"What do you mean, Helen? In the morning?"  
  
"I mean just that. John rented the place to her on the spot, in the middle of the night, as if we had some sort of second rate motel. I was so mad with him when he wouldn't even admit to me how odd this whole situation is. He just kept repeating that he just couldn't force her out in the storm and that we needed a new tenant anyway."  
  
Mrs Gaskell shook her head. "All men are pigs! Your John just never seemed the type to. you know. Maybe nothing will come of it after all."  
  
"We'll see," said Mrs Gates with a foreboding glance at her sister. "We'll see."  
  
There was nothing said for several minutes. Mrs Gates was deep in thoughts and Mrs Gaskell was doing her best to control her curiosity regarding "the other woman". As they were standing by the vegetable booth she ran out of self-restraint. "If you don't mind me asking, Helen dear, what's she like?"  
  
Mrs Gates frowned at the question, insensitive as it was. "Really, Ruth, what kind of a question is that? I've seen her five times in the week that's passed since her arrival. And I'm not expecting to get to know her better in the future either."  
  
"But she clearly made some kind of impression on you, negative though it might be. What does she do, for example?"  
  
"Could we please change the topic if I tell you?"  
  
Mrs Gaskell nodded in agreement. "She claims to be some sort of writer and for all I know, it might be true-you know that I care little for that sort of thing. Her tone of voice is educated enough and she is not wanting economically, because she paid the rent for three months in advance."  
  
"Merlin, Helen, you can be so daft sometimes," the other woman sighed, lifting her eyebrows to the sky. "Don't you have anything more substantial to offer me?" They stopped just outside the open door to the apothecary.  
  
"Why is everyone dying to know the truth behind Morgan Harcourt all of a sudden? Yesterday I'm willing to bet no one here knew who she was or gave a toss. She's just another upper-class, eccentric, pretentious, man-eating harlot and we all know the type."  
  
"That's a bit rash, don't you think?"  
  
"Not at all, Ruth, I have always put a lot of faith in first impressions. I bet she is one of them . sexual predators that I read about in Witch Weekly the other day. She even looks like one - eyes all yellow, like the eyes of a cat or an owl. Gave me the creeps, and you know I'm not squeamish. Now if we-", sidestepping a group of playing children, she bumped into a man just coming down the steps. "I'm sorry sir! Oh, Professor Snape, didn't see you there."  
  
The man turned towards them with his usual scowl. "Maybe if you paid more attention to your surroundings and less to your mind-dulling gossip about other people's private business - however interesting you find it." He nodded curtly and was on his way.  
  
Mrs Gates sighed. "Oh dear! My husband will never forgive me if we loose him as a customer. The professor may be unpleasant but he's very good for business. I hope he was not too offended."  
  
"Don't worry, Helen. Everyone with the slightest intelligence knows that your pharmacy carries the best stock in Hogsmeade. Now . perhaps a cup of tea?"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Professor Snape, who the two ladies ran into as they entered the apothecary, was on his way out of the shop, and the more irritable because it had been unable to supply him with what he was looking for. A recent accident in potions class had left him in a desperate need for salamanders' blood (not for personal use of course).  
  
The only solution to his problem was a trip to the outside - a prospect he didn't find at all tempting.  
  
Chapter II - The Newcomer  
  
T here was more to the countryside around Hogwarts than the Forbidden Forest and the village of Hogsmeade. Being located somewhere in Scotland there were a great deal of hills, moors and ordinary forests with oak, maple, beech, alder and elm, but without giant monsters or moving trees. Also there was Lake Severn, a picturesque oval shaped lake in the middle of the forest, surrounded by flat, smooth rocks, reed and other water plants. Giant old trees in the immediate surroundings with their foliage hanging down gave the impression that it was completely cut off from the rest of the world.  
  
One of the advantages of Lake Severn, for Professor Snape at least, was that it housed salamanders. Salamander blood was one of the more uncommon potion ingredients but was nonetheless used in a couple of mind altering potions on the seven year's curriculum. Due to an accident his entire stock had been wiped out during Thursday's advanced potions class and it was in order to refill his supply of salamander blood before the same class on Monday that he flew off on his broom in the direction of the lake.  
  
The cold, crisp autumn air seemed to clear the book dust from his lungs. He could not remember when he had last been out in the open. Walking out to the gates to apparate to one of the Dark Revels perhaps, but that did not really count. It felt good to be on a broomstick again and have the wind in your hair. Because it was now late September he didn't have to worry about being burnt. Snape's fair skin was sensitive to sunlight, although not to the degree the vampire rumours suggested. The brightness of the sun made his eyes water but fortunately there was no one there to see it. Looking down to avoid it he observed how the leaves had turned into fiery shades of yellow, orange and red. It was a beautiful sight but he feared he did not give it just appreciation.  
  
Once on the ground, after having landed in a small clearing as it was easier than trying to get trough the foliage, he shrunk his broom to a size fitting for his pocket and walked off towards the lake glittering secretly close by. The thick verdure formed loops just waiting to catch his feet. Letting your mind wander could have disastrous effects. Like breaking a leg - and with his bad luck he didn't need to be reckless for accidents to happen. Sometimes he could swear that the gods and every other power in the universe were against him.  
  
Snape paused for one moment taking in the cool, green water, the beautiful, fiery colours of the leaves, the murky smell and the song of a willow wren nearby. He had a little peace then, a moment of peace.  
  
It was a fleeting moment, interrupted by the sight of a corpse, a dead woman, in the water - floating on her back with her pale, empty face staring blindly at the sky. He was saddened by the sight of her, naturally, yet he could not suppress the thought that she must have been an imbecile for drowning in such a shallow lake. Death by drowning was a very easy death in comparison with what he had to witness on a regular basis. A few moments of panic and a raw feeling just when your lungs start to fill with water but quick enough.  
  
His musings on death quickly evaporated when the realization struck that this little expedition would have to be postponed to a later date. First priority must be given to reporting her demise and transporting the body to the local undertaker.  
  
Snape dropped his bag to the ground and started wading towards her, as the body was floating not very far from the shore. The water was only slightly cloudy and he could see his own feet, still encased in black leather boots, on the bottom. A few more heavy steps and he was standing next to her, looking down at her face. Being as familiar with death as only one in his unfortunate position could be, he observed the skin colour and the lack of swelling. The conclusion: she could not have been dead long, maybe only a couple of hours.  
  
There were odd circumstances: if it was a drowning accident, why was she undressed down to her knickers and slip? The same question would be valid if her death was suicide. He could not make heads or tails of it at the present. Someone had beaten her thoroughly, that much was evident. Was there any connection to her death or was it just coincidental? There was heavy bruising on her neck, arms, breast, hips and thighs. Not love bites or other marks left by a non-sadistic lover, but the traces of physical and possibly also sexual abuse.  
  
The display of ghostly pale limbs that would have excited most Death Eaters no end, did nothing for him. Of all the sick perversions that took place at the Dark Revels, necrophilia was the one that made him question his ability to keep up the charade any longer. It was a joke amongst the others - what could be more fitting for Death Eaters than a flirtation with death itself? He had seen Avery, Malfoy and the others rape the terrified women before, during and after the actual killing. And been powerless to stop the inevitable.  
  
Judging from appearances this woman's life had been enough like hell that she might have welcomed the end, though her face had a rare look of melancholy to it, like even death was a disappointment. Had he wanted to he would have had to admit to himself that it was something he could certainly relate to. There was an odd burning sensation in his throat.  
  
There were dark circles under her eyes, suggesting fatigue, and the skin was so pale he could see blue-green veins at the temples. The freckles on her nose and cheek-bones stood out in stark contrast. Her hair framed her face like a mop of flowing sea-weed moving from the tiny waves of the water. There was something forlorn about the picture, like a single glove lying on the ground.  
  
A dry leaf came spiralling down from up above. Snape watched it, mesmerized as it came to touch the woman's forehead. Instantaneously her eyes shot open and when she saw the dark shadow looming over her head, a myocronic jerk ripped through her body and then she dived clumsily to escape. Startled out of his reverie, Snape staggered back a few steps, cursed when slipping on some slippery stones and fell on his back into the water.  
  
When he resurfaced he saw her standing a little further out with her arms crossed protectively over her chest. She had been oddly beautiful, in a martyred kind of way, when he believed her to be dead, but she'd lost all of that in an instant and now looked downright piteous. Her hair didn't look like sea-weed once away from the water; instead it clung to her face, neck, her shoulders and back, giving off the impression that it led by some malevolent force might form a noose and strangle her at any given moment. He noticed her shaking, whether from the cold or the shock he wasn't sure.  
  
But she stood quietly assessing him with wary eyes for a few more moments. "Why were you standing over me like that?" she asked with strained composure. "You startled me."  
  
"I thought you were dead," he stated flatly.  
  
"Dead? Why would I be dead?"  
  
Scowling at her, he started to press the water out of his robes and cloak. "I don't have the patience for silly questions--especially now! When I figured you were dead I didn't take into account that you could just be deadly stupid. Have you perhaps considered, miss, that freezing cold and brisk wind is not exactly what most people would consider ideal bathing conditions?" She huffed at him but remained silent.  
  
"Furthermore you'll have to forgive my rudeness when I say that you look like you belong in a hospital bed and not lying half-naked in a pond!" Snape was getting rather worked up against his will. "Don't just stand there like a bloody statue! Come up on the shore." He himself waded out of the water and turned around to face her.  
  
"I'd rather stay where I am." She now had a little more colour to her cheeks, probably due to a combination of embarrassment and anger. Though taking an interest in the health of a stranger was nothing that came natural to him, he couldn't quite see himself ignoring her while going about his business of collecting salamanders and then leaving her battered and icy cold person to the elements, as it were. There was something very odd about her. Had she been dumped here or did she enjoy hypothermia?  
  
Snape sighed heavily and tried to make his voice gentler. "I apologize for snapping at you but you really should not stay in the water any longer. It's quite safe - I pose no danger to you, I assure you."  
  
She made no reply and he was about to curse her non-communicative ways when he noticed how the waterline was slightly below her belly-button and how her arms were crossed to cover her chest. How stupid of him not to think of it. "I suppose you may borrow my." He looked sharply at her. "Do you know where you are? How did you get here?"  
  
It had suddenly occurred to him that she might not be a witch at all and however rare it was for muggles to get though the wards protecting the whole area around Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, he did not wish to incriminate himself further by performing magic in front of her.  
  
"I live in Hogsmeade if that's what you're getting at. The rest is none of your business." She stated this calmly as if making an observation.  
  
Snape's lips thinned but he controlled himself. "Very well then. You may borrow my robes while I accio your belongings."  
  
"If you will - they are right there." She pointed to behind an oak tree within a stone's throw.  
  
After drying the cloak and his entire person he levitated it and made it float through the air towards her. He had his back turned to her when he heard the faint sound of her wading through the water up on the shore.  
  
"You may turn around now," the voice said in a mocking tone. "I'm decent." Snape shot her a glare, the likes of which would have had Longbottom swallowing his own tongue, before drawing his wand and accioing her clothes. They came right at him; a black dress, a pair of leather boots and some smallish lacy garments, that he soon understood to be her garter and stockings, and her wand. Snape felt rather uneasy handling a woman's articles of clothing, especially since his sensitive nostrils almost immediately picked up a heady, delicious smell from them - hers presumably.  
  
He suddenly became aware that his thoughts had drifted off a bit with the awkward feeling that the woman had tried to get his attention several times without result.  
  
"What the bloody hell is the matter with you? Will you give me those at once!" She was staring at him with her oddly coloured amber eyes, but refused to come closer. Smart girl.  
  
Clearly she was at her wits end, and the more agitated because of the nature of her predicament. After all she was as good as naked under his robes and he was holding her wand. All he could say to his defence was that he at least didn't hold her clothes up to his nose. Perhaps she was not aware of the reason behind his lapse of concentration, and he preferred to think she wasn't.  
  
Straightening up, he muttered something unintelligible, then cleared his throat. "Pardon, miss, but there's no need for that kind of language. I was simply thinking." He handed her her belongings.  
  
The woman seized her wand and dried, dressed and shoed herself with a couple of well-chosen spells. She suddenly seemed in an awful hurry to do a lot of things at once. "Thinking, yes, but what could you possibly have been thinking?" She uttered another spell with her wand pointed towards her head, which dried and braided her hair at the same time.  
  
"I beg your pardon?" he stuttered before hastily averting his eyes from her left thigh, which she had just then bared to refasten her stocking. There was an inch or so of her honey-coloured flesh showing above the lining.  
  
The situation was growing weirder by the minute. Why did he always find himself in these absolutely bizarre situations? Snape sighed heavily, concluding for not the first time that his sense of humour did not agree with that of the Great Puppet Master's.  
  
So apparently, had she. "I've had enough of your . odd . behaviour. I won't thank you for intruding on my privacy, but perhaps I misjudged you earlier. It doesn't really matter, now does it?" She stepped away from him. "Good day to you, professor." And she was gone.  
  
How does she know I'm a teacher?  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 


	2. Part II

She hadn't meant to go bathing when she headed out that morning. She woke up sore like she had every morning for a week now. Her body protested violently to the lack of sleep. And the repercussions of her last running in with Theophilus still ached. The idea of crawling into warm, safe nest and hibernate until the trees were coming into leaf was almost irresistible.  
  
What was she doing in Hogsmeade? A dull, quaint little place and not at all to her liking. She had already made enemies - which always went a lot faster than making friends, at least for Morgan. Almost visible streams of hatred could be picked up from her landlady, Mrs Gates, all because of a look or two from her husband, who she wouldn't touch with a stick. Had her mood been brighter, Morgan would have laughed at the irony of the situation, because she was the last person in the world to steal anyone's husband.  
  
There was a lot of planning and organizing to do before she could exhale. It felt like she had been waiting to exhale for three months. In a manner of speaking she had - she had been walking on thin ice, constantly on the look-out and not been able to relax for that entire time. Finally the situation grew intolerable and she had to flee London ahead of schedule. The streams started to be discernible like lazily pulsating veins under the skin of a snake. Caressing and lulling her to sleep against her will, caressing her with mermaid's arms, luring her down into the deepest of the pits on the bottom. There could be no tidal waves, no sea breeze, no salty taste in her mouth. She knew it well and missed all those things.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The following morning Albus Dumbledore was at his desk where he was doing some rather odd things to a remember-all. When the door flung open he looked up to meet the black gaze of his Potions Master.  
  
"Severus, how good of you to come see me so promptly!- "  
  
"I'm in a hurry, Headmaster, so please cut to the chase." If he had regarded it dignified he would have tapped his foot against the floor. As things now stood Snape had to settle for an impatient shake of his watch wrist.  
  
"As you wish, Severus. I was wondering whether you are familiar with the writer Morgan Harcourt?"  
  
"No, I'm not, Albus. What is the point of this?"  
  
"As it happens, this writer has moved into Hogsmeade very recently and has written to me, asking permission to use our library and other facilities for research purposes-"  
  
"Yes?!"  
  
"-And since we've met once, at some social event, and I've read most - well to cut to the chase as you asked me - I happily accepted and have just now sent a dinner invitation for tonight so that we can all get better acquainted. I felt it would be prudent to inform you now, since you were unable to attend yesterday's staff meeting."  
  
Snape practically ground his teeth. "That blasted Longbottom!" Dumbledore made sure to hide his smile. He loved Severus dearly but couldn't help find his temper tantrums slightly melodramatic at times. The professor was obviously anxious to get back to the dungeons.  
  
"Yes, yes, was that all? I still have lots of work to do due to that explosion yesterday." Snape headed for the door before Dumbledore could answer.  
  
"So if you see an unfamiliar face in the corridors-"  
  
"-I'll make sure not to blast him to pieces! Good day now, Headmaster!"  
  
Albus Dumbledore sat back in his chair with a mischievous grin after the door closed behind his dear friend and colleague.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Chapter III - Building Castles in the Air Morgan's prehistory.  
  
Imagination and fantasy were childish attributes and considered unfitting for a seven-year-old girl of her breeding. Why was never properly explained to her. From the start Morgan was always more interested in alternative truths than in the actual truth. That earned her a lot of tongue-lashings from her parents, her gran and the governess. The Harcourts were an old, respected, pure-blood family living on both sides of the canal, in Britain and France. They were social butterflies, more gifted in the areas of diplomacy and politics, than in academics. There were quite a few Harcourts in high places around Europe, as have been the case for centuries. Being a Harcourt meant that you primarily existed in the capacity of family member, secondarily as an individual. Old blood, old money, old traditions.  
  
The children - Morgan (Morgan was originally not the sanctioned name of the girl, but as soon as she grew old enough to read about King Arthur herself - having been informed that her namesake was a queen in that tale - she stubbornly refused to listen to the name Morgana any more.) and her two years older brother Theophilus - were destined for great things. Theo had to accomplish them himself while Morgan, being a member of the "weaker sex", was supposed to marry a man of power, prestige, position.  
  
For centuries it had been the family tradition to educate the daughters at home. Why that tradition was instigated in the first place was unclear but the Harcourts now congratulated themselves on an ingenious way to ensure that the young women never got into contact with dangerous ideas or dangerous people. However their idea of dangerous people differed a great deal from most. As they were a pureblood family, able to trace back the lines to ancient times, they took ancestry very seriously and never associated with muggles or muggleborns.  
  
Forcing Morgan to study at home while Theo went to Bauxbatons School of Witchcraft and Wizardry did nothing for her sisterly love. Even as a young girl she resented having to sit in a stuffy room in the west wing with mademoiselle Levant and always being confined to the same environment and the same close set of people, all of whom were either relatives or servants. Both the environment and the company were insufficient to stimulate her rapid development that seemed to go unnoticed by everyone in the household. She was intelligent but judged to be too imaginative by the conservative mademoiselle Levant.  
  
Yet she was not responsible for the serious lies. She had been lied to her whole life and been forced to pretend she was too stupid to notice. Morgan was the cuckoo in the nest and she was aware of it - how could she not be? Mirrors didn't lie - at least hers didn't. The Harcourts were an old, pureblood family with prominent family traits just like the Malfoys, the Snapes, the Ellingtons and the Harmans. Brown or auburn hair, fair skin and green eyes were the physical attributes inherited down in the Harcourt clan the last century or so.  
  
The mirror above Morgan's vanity showed a mismatched face with owl-like amber eyes, dark complexion and a disgraceful amount of freckles on her nose and cheekbones. She felt out of place next to the twenty-something classical beauties - her mother, aunts and cousins - that seemed to have gotten the best part of the Harcourt gene pool. When she was eleven she discovered the reason behind her dissimilarity (and it wasn't adoption as she had always thought) and also the reason why everyone had kept it a secret from her for all those years.  
  
She and her brother had had one of their stormy arguments, always the result of spending too much time in each others company, and he had gotten so angry, so furious that he had grabbed her by the arm and dragged her across the mansion and into a storage room on the forth floor. He had knowledge that could hurt her, confuse her and he was done keeping it from her. Desperately sobbing in his vice-like grip, she had tried to comprehend what he was telling her and what she saw. The reason why ...  
  
The unendurable tension got the better of her and she let out a piercing scream, unconscious of how Theo paled and sank to the floor. A frightened maid came hurrying to investigate the commotion and found the young master and miss on the floor, him seemingly lifeless and her glaring at the wall with eyes of coloured glass.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
As Snape had been intercepted by a talkative Lupin on his way back to his office, he found that he was being practically led towards the Great Hall and dinner. It was no doubt a cunning plan laid out by the Headmaster to get him to attend. Why the old man felt the need to plot in order to get him to socialize he'd never know. The antagonism between himself and Lupin had subsided over the years and they were now enjoying a mutual respect and a comfortable working relationship.  
  
The students were humming and buzzing and milling around like the occupants of a giant bee hive. The excitement of reuniting after the summer had caved in but even a bored teenager is a loud teenager. After a few moments everyone sat down at their respective tables and dinner was served. Just then the doors once again opened up to allow a straggler through.  
  
"Here comes our guest of honour!" said Dumbledore and when Snape followed his gaze towards the entrance, he could once again feel his throat constrict painfully.  
  
"What are you talking about, old man?" he hissed under his breath at Dumbledore who chuckled good-humouredly. "That - is a woman!"  
  
"Your perceptiveness simply blows me away," said McGonagall dryly.  
  
Walking straight up to the Head Table was the lady of the bloody lake. What was she doing at Hogwarts? Realization suddenly dawned on him. Dumbledore had once again demonstrated his fondness of mind games and had - for whatever reason - deliberately made him believe Morgan Harcourt to be a man. That, however, was most certainly not the case.  
  
Naturally suspicious of coincidences, Snape didn't like them meeting twice in such a sort time. Everything smelt strongly of Dumbledore's interference. It was simply preposterous to welcome a perfect stranger into the school among the impressionable children. For all they knew she might be a bad influence on them. Besides, having her in the castle could prove very awkward for him if she chose to bring up the events of yesterday. He would never hear the end of it from McGonagall or Black.  
  
While she didn't seem to take any notice of the students whatsoever, there weren't many pairs of eyes that didn't follow her all the way up to the Head Table. Many eyebrows were raised at the absence of witch's robes . in fact most would have concluded that they were dealing with a muggle if this wasn't Hogwarts. Covered in black from head to toe - in a knee-length, sleeveless dress, long lace gloves, matching stockings and ankle-high leather boots - she managed to fascinate, intimidate and excite at the same time.  
  
The old man played the perfect gentleman and drew out the chair next to his for her. Snape couldn't hold back an ugly sneer at the sight. So the two of them knew each other well enough for the chit to ask the headmaster a favour? Harcourt, was it? He knew of a family by that name but she looked nothing like them and they had too much pure blood pride to become ill- reputable writers.  
  
He watched her out of the corner of his eye. Still the same unnatural pallor but he couldn't spot any of the bruises and bite marks that had almost made him take pity on her before.  
  
Dumbledore had seated her directly beside himself and apparently they found plenty to talk about, though Snape could only catch parts of sentences as he was forced to occupy a seat much further down due to his tardiness. As they all sat together at the table it was impossible for him to read lips, a skill that otherwise often came in handy in his duties as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. There really was no reason for this violent curiosity, a personality defect he usually proud himself about not having (one of very few in fact). Snape found that she was rather silent, at least for a woman - or perhaps it only seemed so because her voice was a rich alto and her manners were devoid of any girlish skittishness.  
  
Snape was hindered from leaving the table before the meal was over, as was his usual habit, by Professor Flitwick who felt the sudden need to discuss the behaviour of a Slytherin boy that had been causing problems in class. Consequently he found himself immediately behind Professor McGonagall and Ms Harcourt when finally leaving the Great Hall. Professors Flitwick and McGonagall then went into the staff room leaving ms Harcourt alone with him in the corridor. He watched her stride a couple of steps ahead of him. Her movements were rather stiff and all things considered, Snape thought he knew the reason why.  
  
His train of thought was interrupted when the object herself paused briefly, thus allowing him to catch up with her. "Fancy meeting you here, Professor." Her smile was as ambiguous as a Janus face.  
  
"Our meeting here is by no doing of mine, I assure you," he hissed through clenched teeth. "I have no interest in prolonging the acquaintance with suicidal harebrains."  
  
"I confess I like you, Professor. You're not above being rude to strangers. I like that in a man."  
  
"I speak my mind, nothing else," Snape retorted, blatantly angry for being taunted.  
  
"Then your thoughts must be very ugly."  
  
Snape froze in mid-step then pounced on her, wanting nothing more than to shake some sense into her. He could virtually feel his fingers itching.  
  
"No one touches me in anger," she warned, sidestepping him with a practiced skill he would not have expected from her.  
  
"Someone has evidently," he said, scathingly. "Your attempts to cover yourself up the other day were insufficient to say the least."  
  
Her smile became dangerous. "But you haven't seen the person who caused those marks ... he's an even uglier sight."  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"I know for a fact that you are not hard of hearing, Professor. As for discussing my predicament with you . I really can't see that happening, can you?"  
  
"I will warn you not to play with fire," he said softly, carefully stressing every word.  
  
Her eyes looked a little sad then. "I can assure you that I don't need to be told that."  
  
"Don't think you can play the slippery eel with me[1] and get away with it- "  
  
"-I'll make a few things clear, shall I?" She jabbed him hard in the chest with a long gloved finger: "You've heard my name - it ain't fake - I very recently moved into Hogsmeade to finish a book - the whole incident yesterday was not staged to incriminate you and I'm not here to make you look like a fool. Will that be all? Can you please let me go now? I promised to meet Madame Pince in the library."  
  
Only then did he realize that he in effect had her cornered, at the same time how suspect it would look if anyone of the faculty or student body had spotted them standing within arm's reach and staring at each other.  
  
He dropped her like a hot coal.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
----------------------- [1] An inexact quote from Monty Python's sketch about the dead parrot. 


End file.
